Self portrait


In the puddle of my shaving mirror
A two-dimensional reflection casts
Hard shadows across its deep-cut valleys.

Scrupulous study reveals
Alertness to nothing.

So that is what’s believed to be
Me, that’s how I am being told
From the others. That perfect

Stranger with his gimmicks, mimics,
Aping, ground-breaking, face-making,
Cheeks succumbing, blinking, winking,
Not-quite-so-roman nose shrinking,
Twitching, itching, empty eyes rolling,
And at all times time controlling.
Lattice of wrinkles, pimp on the left chick,
A cut of a mouth. This just can’t be.
It must have happened when I was asleep.
Or legless. Or in the red. Deep.

Does anybody really fall for it? Out of the blue,
Artificial light its wrinkles, zits, sleepless nights,
All these day-by-day trappings try

& try & try to scare me
Into a false belief this is me.

But a sober voice inside keeps on urging
Take to the streets, let everyone know.
This forgery must be exposed.

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